


Shower

by melosdechordas



Category: Spider-Man (Video Game 2018)
Genre: Blood and Injury, Clingy Peter Parker, Dead Aunt May, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Grief, Hurt Peter Parker, Hurt/Comfort, Peter Parker Has Panic Attacks, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Post Video Game: Spider-Man 2018, non-sexual nudity, um i didnt know that was a specific tag but it fits the description
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-18
Updated: 2020-10-18
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:54:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27090829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/melosdechordas/pseuds/melosdechordas
Summary: Grieving is a process, and Peter can’t handle it alone.(This story takes place post video game: Spider-Man 2018.)
Relationships: Spider-Man x Reader - Relationship, Spider-Man/Reader, Spider-Man/You
Comments: 2
Kudos: 53





	Shower

It had been just over a month since the cure for GR-27, Devil’s Breath, had been found and distributed. It had been just over a month of the incarceration of the Sinister Six, including Dr. Otto Octavius. It had been just over a month of relative peace. New York seemed to be healing.

But not Peter Parker. Not without Aunt May. He just couldn’t.

You were doing your best to help him. You hadn’t spent a single day without him since then. He didn’t want to be alone. You understood that. Frankly, you didn’t want him to be alone either. He had just lost the very last bit of his family. He didn’t know what step to take next. Not that he was even capable of moving on. No, not yet. Not right now.

You decided to stay with him at his apartment for a while, just so things would be easier. You were there for him when he woke up and you were there for him when he came home at night. You knew you didn’t have to wait for him to get back from night patrols. But you also knew he liked it better that way, even if you were only to say, “Good night, I love you,” then pass out.

But it had been getting more difficult to stay awake. You had your job and you were trying to finish up your winter semester. But Peter needed you. You’d stick it out for him. 

It was no matter that you were yawning. It was no matter that this couch was so comfortable. It was no matter that your eyes were slowly closing...

A gunshot from the TV fires, and it jolts you upright. You sigh.

You were hungry, you decided. Yes, that would keep you up while you watched Criminal Minds.

You make sure to turn it off instead of pause it. You were only going down the street and back, but if Peter came back by then, he’d be upset. He never liked those crime shows. He said that he got enough of that as Spider-Man, so you never watched it with him around, or even mentioned it. Especially not recently. He’d been so sensitive lately - understandably so - and you didn’t want to push. 

You shoot him a text while slipping on your sneakers and sweater. 

_going to bodega for a quick snack, love yu ♡_

As you get up, your head spins. You note to buy some aspirin. 

Grabbing your keys and wallet, you head out. Peter lives on a high floor, which is convenient for Spider-Man, but not so much for you. Still, you take the stairs. The elevators here were never reliable. You hadn’t seen the landlord in awhile. 

New York is becoming as cold as ever. You cling to your sweater tightly as you jog across the street. 

The bodega’s open sign flashes, except for the ‘e’, which remains dark. The bell rings once you open the door, and the owner isn’t surprised to see you. He smiles, but narrows his brown eyes. 

“It’s 12:50. Don’t ask me to make a sandwich.”

You check your watch. You’re glad you left when you did. It was 10 minutes before closing time. 

You laugh, waving a hand at him. “Just some snacks, Pablo. And medicine.”

You walk around, scanning for a snack you might crave. You unshelve some sour gummy candies, a cookies-and-cream chocolate bar for Peter, and some absurdly-salty chips. You round the corner to grab some Ibuprofen, then head towards the counter. 

Pablo scans them for you lazily. 

“Quieres algo mas?” he says.

_Want anything else?_

You look around. Quickly you grab a 5 hour energy in the stand next to the register. You had class tomorrow. 

He scans that too, then puts all your items in a bag. 

“Gracias,” _Thank you,_ you say, adding no accent just to mess with him. He rolls his eyes. 

“Don’t talk like Peter,” he jokes. You chuckle. You and Pablo had been trying to get him to learn, but it bore little fruit.

The ladies at the Indian street market were teaching you, too. Telugu was harder than Spanish, but you still tried. Peter was always amazed when you spoke to them, saying he was much better with numbers than words. 

_‘That’s why we’re perfect for each other,’_ you would say. 

He’d always smile at that, and always blush too. Then, as carefree as a bird, he would say, _‘I love you.’_

You never hesitated to say it back.

Pablo began to close up. You helped him turn off some machines and the neon signs. He was almost finished, so he said he would watch you walk across the street until you were in your building. You thanked him.

As you began to walk away with your things, he called your name.

He looked forlorn as he said, “Take care of Peter, alright?”

You nod, smiling half-heartedly. “I am. It has to get easier someday, right?”

_Right?_ you think to yourself.

The death of Aunt May had been hard on anyone who knew her. There was never an ounce of ill-will against her from anybody. She was a good woman. That’s why Peter was a good man. But she was gone, and there wasn’t a moment where Peter wasn’t feeling that weight. 

You think of him now as you walk up the apartment stairs. Sweet, loving Peter. He was probably still out, swinging. You remember him telling you sometimes it helped him clear his head. 

You reach the door and fish for your key. You begin fidgeting with it as your phone rings. You shove in the door and it opens.

Peter is standing there with his mask off, holding his phone to his ear and pacing around the section of the room where nothing’s strewn on the floor. When he sees you, he quickly presses a button and your phone stops ringing. He comes up to you and hugs you tight, his chest shuddering as you’re in his arms.

You drop the bag and hug him back, wide-eyed.

“Peter..?” you say, astonished. He’s stifling his cries into your shoulder. Did something happen?

“You were gone, and I didn’t know where you went and I thought-” he cuts himself off, unable to say more. 

You rub his back, suddenly understanding. “I’m sorry, I sent a text. I thought you got it.” Your hand is now wet. You look at it and blanch when you see your fingers are bloody. 

“I was thinking about Aunt May and I,” he’s gasping for air, “I couldn’t stop and then you weren’t here and I-”

You make him look at you, grabbing his arms to steady him. You try to smile to make him feel better. It’s difficult when he looks so broken. Tears and blood cover his face.

“Peter, it’s going to be okay. You’re panicking, okay? Look at me, yeah?”

“Yeah,” he breathes and tries to focus on you. 

You’re not sure how much time it takes for his breath to steady. Tonight was particularly bad, though. He had never unraveled so fast in front of you. Not since that first night after Aunt May had died. 

“Sorry,” he whispers quickly, now ashamed. He looks to the floor.

You cup his face with your clean hand, but it gets just as dirty when you touch him. You wipe away some blood with your thumb. It comes off due to his wet tears.

“Hey, it’s nothing to be sorry for. It’s all okay.”

He doesn’t acknowledge you, but you know he hears you. Peter always listened.

After a moment you can’t help but ask, “Why are you hurt? What happened?”

He shakes his head, still looking away. “Nothing.”

You sigh quietly, then embrace him. Your sweater is bloody now too, but you don’t care. You would get the answer later, you supposed. Right now you needed to take care of him.

You look at him and push back his hair. “How about we get cleaned up?”

“I can do it myself,” he mutters. “I know you’re tired.”

You find a clean spot on his chin to kiss. “Come on,” you say, taking his hand and leading him to the bathroom. 

You start up the shower, waiting for the water to heat up. Behind you Peter quietly groans in displeasure. He’s having trouble.

“Here, let me help you,” you offer. He doesn’t protest, but rather complies as you take off his suit. You try to be extra gentle in the areas where the blood has made the fabric stick to his body. He takes off his underwear by himself then steps into the water. 

You undress yourself then join him. He’s facing away from you, towards the water. You watch his back contort as he moves. This seems the place where he has most of his injuries tonight. Water trickles down the cuts. You can hear Peter suck in a sharp breath despite the noise of the water hitting him. It must sting like hell.

You carefully rub away the blood with your fingers and the water. He stills as you do this. Once you’re done, he turns and kisses you. His calloused hand grabs your chin and you kiss him back. 

Peter pulls away when he can’t breathe anymore. He looks at you, hoping he doesn’t have to say anything. He doesn’t. You know he’s thankful - you see it in his eyes. 

“Turn,” you whisper, pushing his shoulder lightly. You grab soap as he does.

“It’ll hurt,” you say right before the soap touches his skin. He exhales, trying not to move away. You rub gently, but thoroughly. Now clean, you grimace at the raw injuries. You remind yourself about his healing abilities. You hope it acts soon.

He turns back around to look at you. “I love you,” he says, louder than he’s said anything else tonight. You smile, tears forming in the corners of your eyes.

“I love you, too, Peter.”

He takes the soap from you and sets it down. Then he hugs you. You both remain there, embracing each other under the warm water, your chest pressed against his, your breathing in sync. It’s intimate and romantic, not sexual. Your body just comforts him. Fuck his healing powers. This was the real medicine.

Eventually, he cleans the rest of himself up. You step out a little before he’s finished, but not before he pulls you into another long kiss. You smile when you get out, going to grab clean clothes for you and him. 

Once Peter is ready you lead him to bed, noting that it’s almost 2 in the morning. Rings are apparent under his eyes now that they’re not covered by blood or tears. He hasn’t gotten much sleep in the past month, but he assures you that without you there, it would be even less. He thanks you again, then lies on his stomach. You’re sitting up, setting the alarm on the nightstand for a few hours from now. 

Now that Peter’s eyes are closed, you examine him again. You were staring so intently at his back that entire time in the shower that you remember exactly where every cut was, despite his shirt covering them all. You have the urge to ask again what had happened. But it goes away, because what matters now is that he’s safe with you. It can wait till morning. 

“I love you,” Peter mumbles.

“I love you, too,” you reply, but he’s already asleep.

You lie next to him, a hand on his shoulder. You rake your other hand through his semi-wet hair until you, too, fall asleep.

**Author's Note:**

> I miss Aunt May! Thank the stars we have multiverses, and also fanfiction.


End file.
